


Dux Bellorum

by Laylah



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Happy Ending, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a few weeks of trying to convince herself she doesn't want to trouble him, eventually she can't help herself, and she does ask, one afternoon when they've gone picnicking together: "Did you...did you keep your uniform?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dux Bellorum

Asch doesn't wear his uniform anymore after he comes home to Baticul. Natalia supposes that's no surprise; most of his memories of being a God-General can't be happy ones. And it certainly makes things simpler for everyone, for him to be unmistakably Kimlascan instead of remaining a soldier of Daath. But there is a tiny, selfish part of her that's sorry all the same.

After a few weeks of trying to convince herself she doesn't want to trouble him, eventually she can't help herself, and she does ask, one afternoon when they've gone picnicking together: "Did you...did you keep your uniform?"

He stiffens, where she leans against him. "Why?"

Natalia feels her cheeks heat slightly. "I always thought it looked striking on you," she says. "I-I mean. You're handsome no matter what you wear. But I -- I liked it."

"They were...designed to look impressive," Asch says awkwardly.

"It was more than that," Natalia says. Asch raises an eyebrow curiously, and she has to look down to be able to get the words out. "I used to imagine you still wearing it when you -- when I pictured you taking me to bed."

"You -- oh," Asch says. "_Oh_." Natalia glances up, and he's blushing, his face nearly as red as his hair. He swallows hard. "Yes," he says. "I-I still have it."

Natalia smiles at him; she's a little nervous but it's not bad, not really. "Will you wear it for me sometime?"

Asch nods. "If you want me to," he says. "Yes. Of course." He takes her hand, and she leans in for a kiss.

It's not exactly a secret, that they're...enjoying each other's company. They've done their best to be discreet, but there's only so much one can keep quiet in households as busy as theirs. And Natalia has always known he was her true love; his name might have changed but his heart certainly hasn't. So truly they have little to hide.

Still, there's something about this particular indulgence that seems best kept private, for political reasons if nothing else. Kimlasca's relationship with Daath is not so cordial as it once was, and for Asch to wear its colors instead of House Fabre's to court her -- well, Natalia finds the idea exciting, but she doesn't want to provoke a diplomatic incident when they're only now learning to rebuild. So they take precautions, as best they can: Asch unpacks his uniform and brings it to the palace carefully wrapped, on a quiet evening when few people have reason to be around; Natalia gives the maids the night off, and locks the door to her rooms once Asch has arrived. He changes behind the screen in her room, while she fidgets and tries to pretend she's calm.

When he steps out from behind the screen, fully dressed, for a moment it takes Natalia's breath away. She remembered the severity of the uniform well enough -- all black and pewter, trimmed in scarlet, the high collar and gloves to make him unapproachable -- but she hadn't realized how much wearing it affected him. His posture is different than she's grown used to, his shoulders stiff and his chin raised, his mouth a hard line. "Well?" he says.

Natalia curtsies. "It's an honor to receive you, general," she says.

Surprise flickers quickly across his face, before Asch nods -- not quite deeply enough for a bow -- and says, "The honor is mine, your highness."

"Thank you for agreeing to see me like this," Natalia says. She takes a step toward him, more nervous than she thinks she has any right to be. To touch him like this --

Asch hesitates for a moment, like he's trying to figure out how she wants him to respond -- they _hadn't_ really talked about making a game of it, had they? "If you summoned me here," he says eventually, "I assume you want to bargain for something."

"You're very astute," Natalia says. "I --" and then all at once she doesn't want an excuse, a game, she wants the truth. She shakes her head. "No, truthfully, I -- I have no such noble purpose." She takes another hurried step closer, reaching up to press her hand to his chest. "I haven't been able to stop thinking of you," she says instead. "Since the first time I saw you on that battlefield, I've wanted to touch you like this. You looked -- so fierce. So proud."

"You'd have me be a warrior for you," Asch says. One gloved hand catches her wrist, the leather worn smooth.

And Natalia realizes she knows exactly what she wants to say. "I want _you_, and you are a warrior. My brave, handsome general."

His eyes shine with pride, and she thinks she should have said these things to him ages ago. He pulls her close, catches her around the waist with his other hand, and kisses her like a conquering hero. Natalia clenches her fingers in the stiff fabric of his tabard and does her best not to swoon utterly as he claims her mouth. He is so fierce like this, as though he has put on the commander's role along with the uniform -- as though it draws out the strength, the drive, that she knows he has.

He pulls back from the kiss, just far enough to look her in the eyes. "I am still yours to command, your highness." Of course: if he will be her commander, then she will also be his queen.

"Thank you," Natalia says. She reaches up to cup his face in one hand. "Please, don't feel you need to hold back for me. I want your strength."

"It's always been yours," Asch says. He stoops to catch her behind the knees, lifting her off her feet. Natalia's breath catches, and she wraps her arms around his neck, leaning into his chest.

He carries her across the room and lays her out across her bed, pinning her there with his weight; she arches up under him, holding on. His hands fumble with the laces of her nightgown, the knots too delicate for gloves, so she helps, tugging the knots undone and shrugging silk away from her shoulders. His tabard feels rough against her bare skin, against her nipples, and she writhes beneath him to feel it. He kisses her again, slides one hand down between her legs, glove leather cool against the heat of her thighs. She shivers, arching into his touch, surrendering to how good he feels; he is her God-General, her warrior prince, her hero come home at last: her love.


End file.
